


Just This Once

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Good Omens Two Shots [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alcohol, Banter, Boys Kissing, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Drinking & Talking, Drunken Kissing, Language, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Neck Kissing, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-25 22:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20033635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: 'Crowley put his now-empty glass aside and sat up. Time to throw caution to the wind. “I’ve wondered, sometimes, what it’d be like to kiss you,” he confessed.In Aziraphale's bookshop, in the early 1990s, Crowley takes enough liquid courage to ask Aziraphale for a kiss.There is a podfic for this now as well, read by me!





	1. Try It Once

London, England, 1991

The wine had begun to taste like water by the seventh glass or so, and Crowley was starting to consider asking Aziraphale whether he had anything stronger. He didn’t know why he felt like getting absolutely sloshed tonight, but he did, and he was barely halfway there. Six thousand years of regular alcohol consumption did wonders for one’s tolerance. 

He looked over at Aziraphale, intending to ask after his stores of whiskey or perhaps brandy, but the words in his mind seemed to have trouble getting down to his throat, so he just sat there for a moment, sinking into his place on the sofa, watching the angel. Aziraphale was sitting in his desk chair, face propped on his hand, staring pensively at the wine in his glass. His absorbed, slightly melancholy expression made Crowley wish that his demonic powers extended to reading minds. He’d love to know what was going on under those lovely blond curls. For as long as they’d known each other, much about Aziraphale was still a mystery to Crowley. 

“Hey, angel,” Crowley said, wanting to stop his thoughts before they wound up somewhere dangerous.

“Hm?” Aziraphale looked up and over at him, then rubbed a hand over his face. “Terribly sorry, dear boy, got a bit distracted.” 

“By what? There’s nothing there.” 

“By...watching the shop through the wine, I suppose. Makes everything all blurry.” 

“I don’t suppose we could watch the shop through whiskey instead?” 

“Eh? Oh, certainly, if you like.” Aziraphale started to rise from his chair.

“You have some, then?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale gave him a look that combined mild irritation with just a touch of smugness. “Who d’you think you’re talking to? When have I ever not had every conser - consat -  _ possible  _ kind of alcohol in my possession?” 

“Fair point.” Crowley drank all the wine he had left in one go and handed the empty glass off to Aziraphale when he came over to collect it. He heard the angel rummaging around a bit, then closed his eyes in pleased anticipation at the sound of liquid being poured into glasses. 

“How much do you want?” Aziraphale called. 

"However much you have.” 

“I’m not letting you drink it _all_!” 

“Well, however much you have that you don’t want for yourself.” Crowley sat up and peeled his jacket off, then tossed it carelessly aside. It was warm in the shop, and he didn’t feel like wearing it anymore. He rather hoped that Aziraphale would notice. 

When Aziraphale came back, he was carrying two tumblers of whiskey. He handed one of them to Crowley, and their fingers brushed as the demon took it. Aziraphale returned to his desk without commenting on Crowley’s absent jacket, and Crowley, mildly disappointed, took a sip of the drink. “Thanks, angel,” he said. 

“You’re welcome.” Aziraphale swirled the whiskey around in his own glass and sniffed it before starting to drink. 

Crowley put his feet up on the sofa and reclined against the arm, careful not to spill the whiskey. Once he was in a good position, he tilted his head back and resumed watching Aziraphale. He managed not to drink for a full thirty seconds before he gave up, brought the tumbler to his lips, and drained it. 

“It’s  _ whiskey,  _ Crowley; you’re not meant to  _ chug  _ it,” Aziraphale said, sounding a bit affronted but amused at the same time. 

“I wanna be drunk.” 

“You  _ are  _ drunk.” 

“Not drunk enough.” Crowley got unsteadily to his feet and made his way across the room to get himself some more whiskey from the bottle that Aziraphale had left on the desk. Aziraphale watched him pour it without saying a word. 

Crowley returned to the sofa and sat down. “Ah,” he said, “now we’re getting somewhere. The room was spinning a bit, just then.” 

“Progress indeed,” Aziraphale said dryly. 

Crowley drained the tumbler, and Aziraphale gave him a look. “Would you like to just keep the bottle over there, dear?” 

“Sounds practical.” 

Aziraphale brought the whiskey bottle over and placed it on the floor next to Crowley, who poured himself another measure, sloshing some of it over the rim of the glass by mistake. 

“Are you quite alright, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “You usually don’t drink so...zealously.” 

“‘M fine. Grand.” Crowley stared at the angel, the full tumbler clutched hard in his hand. He took in his friend’s flushed face, his slightly off-kilter hair, his loosened tie and slightly exposed throat, and his mouth seemed to go dry. Not for the first time, Crowley imagined pulling the tartan collar aside and pressing his lips, moist with drink, to his best friend’s neck. As the fantasy took over his mind, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dispel it. 

As if reading Crowley’s illicit thoughts, Aziraphale undid the very top button of his shirt, so that Crowley could just barely see the hollow of his throat, and that made everything worse. He squirmed on the sofa, crossing one leg over the other and turning his attention back to his whiskey. 

  
As they continued drinking, their standards of style became more and more lax. Crowley took off the scarf he was wearing, and Aziraphale removed his jacket and unbuttoned his cuffs.  _ Like the world’s slowest striptease,  _ Crowley thought absurdly, before shaking his head rapidly and setting the room at a proper spin. 

“Oh, think ‘m nearly drunk enough,” he slurred, then laughed at himself. 

“Should hope so,” Aziraphale muttered. “You’ve drunk nearly half m’good whiskey.” 

“Not sorry.” The alcohol in his system made Crowley brave enough to look at the angel again, and he really,  _ really  _ liked what he saw. This was nothing new; he’d been attracted to Aziraphale for millennia, but he was starting to think that tonight, perhaps, he might actually do something about it. 

“Hey angel,” he said. 

“Yes?” Aziraphale asked. He was on his second tumbler of whiskey now, and was clearly almost as drunk as Crowley was. He had the bleary, faraway look that he often got when intoxicated. 

“Got a question for ya,” Crowley drawled, putting the hand that wasn’t holding the whiskey behind his head. Something was fluttering in his chest; a little nervous butterfly beating its wings against his rib cage as if to say  _ don’t do it, don’t do it; don’t ask him this question, you stupid bastard!  _

“‘S the question?” Aziraphale slurred, leaning towards Crowley. 

“You ever kissed anyone?” 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind’ve question ‘s that?” 

“One I’d like an answer to.” 

“Why?” 

“Curious. Been curious for a long time.” Crowley waited for the angel’s response, breathing shallowly in anticipation.

“Have you now,” Aziraphale said flatly. He looked down, adjusted his left cuff, then met Crowley’s eyes again. “‘Course I have,” he said. “What d’you think I’ve been doin’ for the last six thousand years?” 

“Dunno,” said Crowley. “Angel stuff?” He had known that Aziraphale’s answer to his question would likely be yes - who could stay on earth for millennia upon millennia without ever kissing anyone? - but he couldn’t deny the little flicker of disappointment that he felt.

He’d have liked to be Aziraphale’s first kiss. 

“Well, yes,” said Aziraphale, “but angels aren’t monks, dear boy.” 

“Lot of people?” 

“A fair few, I s’pose.” 

"Men or women?” 

Aziraphale seemed to think about that for a moment. “Both, but mostly men, I daresay.” 

“Hm.” 

They were silent for a moment. Crowley was trying to picture who Aziraphale might have kissed. Men and women, he’d said. More men, though. Crowley wondered what sort of man Aziraphale went for. He tried to picture his friend locked in an embrace with a man, their mouths moving passionately together, their arms around each other. A spike of irrational jealousy made itself felt in Crowley’s stomach, and his fingers tightened around his tumbler. He eyed Aziraphale’s mouth, which was full and red and as lovely as the rest of him. 

“Do I get t’ask you summat now?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Sure.” 

“When’s the last time you kissed someone?” 

“1985,” Crowley answered immediately. “Live Aid.” 

“Good?” 

“Mmm.” Crowley put his now-empty glass aside and sat up. Time to throw caution to the wind. “I’ve wondered, sometimes, what it’d be like to kiss you,” he confessed. 

He’d thought Aziraphale would be surprised by this admission, but he didn’t seem to be. The angel slowly placed his whiskey on his desk. “Why’s that?” he asked. 

Crowley shrugged. “We’ve known each other forever, haven’t we; and sometimes...one just...wonders.” He shrugged again, gracelessly. He hoped his explanation sounded reasonable enough. He couldn’t very well say  _ because I’m so utterly in love with you, and I want you so badly, that sometimes I wonder how I’m still alive.  _

“S’pose one does.” Aziraphale’s gaze was intense, seeming to look past Crowley’s eyes instead of into them. “You could, you know,” he said. “If you wanted. To try it.” 

Crowley went very still. He had to be careful now. He could not, under any circumstances, do anything that might make Aziraphale withdraw that offer. He could not screw this up. 

He leaned back, trying to look casual and probably failing spectacularly. “Yeah?” he asked. He’d meant to say it with a sort of sexy laziness, as if he really didn’t care one way or the other, but it came out sounding broken and hoarse, as if he wanted to take Aziraphale up on his offer more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life - which, incidentally, was the truth. He’d been fantasizing about those angelic lips for far too long. Even now he couldn’t take his eyes off them. Satan, this was pathetic. 

Aziraphale leaned forward, folding his hands together. His eyes never left Crowley’s. “If you wanted,” he repeated, with a flicker of uncertainty in his tone. 

Crowley mimicked his pose, then crushed his hands between his thighs to stop them from trembling. The alcohol he’d imbibed seemed to slosh through his head, simultaneously riling him up and soothing him. “Well then,” he said. “I suppose you should come over here.” It was downright impressive, how well his voice was holding together even though he felt completely untethered. 

Aziraphale didn’t move for a few seconds, but then he got up. He was noticeably wobbly as he crossed the room and dropped himself onto the couch beside Crowley. Crowley wondered how much of that had to do with the booze and how much of it was connected to what they were about to do. 

Lithely, Crowley swung himself around so that he was facing the angel. They weren’t quite close enough to kiss yet, but that would be easy enough to change. Crowley shifted forward, and Aziraphale did the same, as though instinctively. Slowly, the demon raised his hands and placed them lightly on the angel’s face. Aziraphale’s eyes fell shut, and he took a deep breath. 

“‘S this ok?” Crowley nearly whispered, his thumbs stroking shakily over Aziraphale’s cheekbones as though of their own accord. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered back. In his peripheral vision, Crowley saw the angel raise a hand, which landed a moment later on his own wrist, the fingers curling around it. The touch drew Crowley closer, gave him renewed confidence. 

“Angel.” 

“Mmm.” 

“Are you sure about this?” The words trembled off his tongue. 

“I am.” Aziraphale leaned in, tilting his head to the side. The gesture was so inviting that Crowley couldn’t hold back anymore. Leaning forward, shaking all over, he took Aziraphale’s lips with his own. 

The first kiss was a quiet, gentle thing, and Crowley felt warmth spread through his whole body as he increased the pressure of his mouth against Aziraphale’s. When Aziraphale pressed back, parting his lips slightly, a thrilling little shock went straight down Crowley’s spine. Frantically, his mind scrambled for a way to keep it going; he wouldn’t be able to stand it if it ended after only one kiss. Desperately, but carefully, he ran his tongue over the seam between Aziraphale’s upper and lower lips, and to his surprise, the angel opened his mouth. 

Crowley arched toward him in enthusiastic response, his own mouth yawning open too wide so that his teeth scraped against Aziraphale’s. He heard the angel laugh lightly in response and was afraid he might have fucked it up with his carelessness, but Aziraphale kept kissing him, touching his tongue to Crowley’s. 

Arousal sparked to life in Crowley’s groin, but it was like background noise. Aziraphale’s mouth, tasting like whiskey and wet from their kiss, was his main focus. His fingers, which had been light on the surface of Aziraphale’s skin, clutched at him properly now, one hand sliding up into his hair and the other flexing on his neck. The hand on Crowley’s wrist squeezed tighter, and he felt Aziraphale’s other hand land on his thigh. 

Their noses brushed as they continued kissing. The kiss had quickly become messy and ungraceful, and Crowley’s heart was going a mile a minute from it. Aziraphale pulled him closer and Crowley slowed down the movement of his mouth, kissing the angel sweetly. 

“Mmm,” Aziraphale said, and then his arms were around Crowley, pulling him in, nails scraping his jaw, knees bumping knees. Crowley had been determined not to let this turn into anything too passionate, for fear he might end up saying things he knew Aziraphale wasn’t ready to hear -  _ you go too fast for me, Crowley  _ \- but how was he supposed to resist  _ this?  _ What demon, or human, for that matter, could reasonably be expected to pull away from this? 

Crowley clutched at Aziraphale’s neck and pressed into him. Aziraphale tipped his head back, letting Crowley catch his teeth on his lower lip and bite down lightly. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale said softly, and the sound encouraged Crowley to make another request.

“Angel,” he said between kisses, “can I...your neck-”

In response, Aziraphale leaned all the way back, baring his throat, and Crowley’s shaking fingers fumbled at his collar, moving it out of the way so that he could mouth at the angel’s neck, tasting sweat and soap. He licked a stripe from Aziraphale’s Adam’s apple to his jaw, and the angel moaned hoarsely. 

“That’sss it,” Crowley hissed, flicking his tongue over Aziraphale’s mouth again until the angel opened up and let him back in. They kissed deeply and sincerely, as if they were both trying to make the absolute most of it, as if they knew that after this they would never kiss again, and it was almost everything Crowley had wanted for six thousand years. 

Almost. 

The kiss ended eventually, as all kisses must, leaving a wide-eyed angel and a panting demon staring at each other, foreheads still touching, still tangled in each other’s arms. 

“Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. 

“No,” Crowley whispered, and leaned forward to capture his mouth one more time, weak at the prospect of letting go. Aziraphale returned the kiss, but did not initiate another. 

Aziraphale pulled out of Crowley’s embrace and sat at the other end of the couch. Crowley licked his lips, questing for the remnants of Aziraphale’s taste. His body was sparking with equal parts satisfaction and desperate, unrelenting desire. “That was...that was good, angel,” he said, forcing the words from a dry throat.

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “Indeed.” His eyes fell on Crowley’s empty glass, and his expression seemed to light with purpose. “More whiskey, dear?” He stood up, straightening his collar. 

Hesitantly, Crowley picked up his tumbler and handed it over. As Aziraphale crossed the shop to pour him another measure - having apparently forgotten that he’d placed the bottle on the floor beside the couch - the demon pressed his lips together and touched his neck with a still-unsteady hand. The only thought in his head, aside from how mind-bendingly wonderful those kisses had been, was the firm, burning hope that one day Aziraphale would let him kiss him sober. 


	2. ...Or Maybe Twice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sober follow-up : )

2010

“Do you remember that time we kissed?”

Aziraphale, who was rearranging some books on one of the shelves in the bookshop, didn’t answer right away, but Crowley could tell by the brief pause in his movement and slight tensing of his shoulders that he’d heard the question. Crowley bit his tongue, waiting.

After a moment, Aziraphale slowly turned around to face Crowley. His blue eyes were guarded, his posture stiff, and his hands clenched together. “Yes,” he said. “Of course I do.” He watched Crowley expectantly for a moment, as though he thought a follow-up question might be forthcoming. When Crowley didn’t ask one, he turned back to the bookshelf, but his shoulders did not relax, and Crowley could tell he wasn’t really concentrating on the books anymore.

Crowley let almost a full minute go by before he spoke again. “Why’d you let me do it?”

This time Aziraphale dropped the book he’d been holding. It fell to the floor at his feet, and the angel made no move to pick it up.

Now that was concerning. Crowley’s heart, which had already been beating faster than normal, sped up even more. He was digging his nails into his thighs, leaning forward in his chair, nervously awaiting Aziraphale’s response, provided he was inclined to give one.

Crowley had never planned to mention the kiss again, but they’d already been taking care of Warlock for two years now, and he wasn’t at all sure that it was even possible for them to succeed in what they were trying to do. It was conceivable that the child would develop his Antichrist powers no matter what he and Aziraphale did; Armageddon might simply be inevitable, and if that were true, Crowley needed to know why they’d kissed all those years ago. He needed to know before the world ended, and he lost his chance to ask.

Crowley had been absolutely hammered that night, but he remembered the kiss very, very well. You didn’t forget the first time you got to have something you’d wanted for so many years. He caught himself replaying it in his memory at least once a week, usually when he was alone either in bed or in the shower. Occasionally he embellished it a bit, imagined it had gone further than it actually had, and...well. Even a demon had to have something to dream about.

Aziraphale turned around again and met Crowley’s eyes, which, since they were alone, were unhidden by sunglasses. He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, a nervous tic he must have picked up from Crowley, who had more nervous tics than a bad liar in a courtroom.

“Need I remind you that we were very, _very_ drunk?”

Crowley shook his head, irritated. “Don’t give me that, Aziraphale.” He rubbed his shaking hands together, annoyed by how unsteady he felt, fighting the urge to start biting his nails. “I know we were drunk, but are you really going to tell me that’s all there was to it? We’d been drunk together a million times before that, but we’d never kissed. We’d never even come close.”

“You’d never brought it up before!” Aziraphale’s voice rose a little hysterically at the end of the sentence, and that, more than anything, told Crowley that he was right. There _was_ more to it. An irrepressible lump of hope rose from his heart to the base of his throat, and Crowley swallowed, trying to keep it from getting too big. If Aziraphale was about to utterly shoot him down, like he had back in 1967, he wanted it to hurt as little as possible (though he knew that ‘as little as possible’ would still be a significant amount).

“Well.” Crowley slid his hands under his thighs to stop himself from wringing them. “If I had brought it up before, would you have agreed to it?”

Aziraphale threw up his hands in apparent frustration. “I don’t know, Crowley! Maybe! Probably! Why are you asking me this?”

“Probably?” Crowley repeated.

Aziraphale’s entire face seemed to turn into one giant blush, and Crowley felt his knees go weak at how adorable it was. He was suddenly very glad he was sitting down.

Aziraphale dropped his eyes. As thought to distract himself, he stooped down to pick up the book he’d dropped, and slipped it back into its place on the shelf with trembling hands.

“Come and sit down, angel,” Crowley said, his voice gentler now.

As Aziraphale came over to sit in the chair across from him, Crowley glanced at his lips. Scarcely a day had gone by the last nineteen years that he hadn’t wished he could feel those lips pressing against his own again. He remembered the way Aziraphale had kissed him back, had even pulled him closer...and he’d realized that, if Aziraphale hadn’t wanted the kiss too, if he’d just been doing it to make Crowley happy, it was unlikely that he would have done that.

Crowley watched Aziraphale as he stared down at his lap, twisting the angel ring on his fourth finger. Ah, Crowley’s old enemy: angelic guilt.

“Angel,” Crowley said softly.

Aziraphale looked up.

“Please,” Crowley almost whispered, letting his need for an answer show in his eyes. “Please, just tell me why.”

A shadow of anger passed across Aziraphale’s face, but then passed. Aziraphale looked into Crowley’s eyes. “Because I wanted it,” he said quietly. “You’re very attractive, Crowley; did you know that? I’ve always thought so, anyway. And I wanted it.” His throat worked for a second as he swallowed; Crowley hardly dared to breathe. “I still want it, as a matter of fact,” Aziraphale added, his neck flushing, but his eyes never leaving Crowley’s. “I want _you_.” He shrugged awkwardly and fell silent.

Crowley shifted his weight in the chair and leaned toward Aziraphale. He stared, stunned, at the angel for several seconds. He was pretty sure that he’d be having a heart attack if he were human, his heart was going so fast. “How...how long?” he asked hoarsely.

“Oh, ages.” Aziraphale shrugged again. “Oh, bother, I really shouldn’t be telling you this. I really shouldn’t be _feeling_ this, all things considered. But if it hasn’t stopped by now, I don’t suppose it will.” He gave a third shrug, as if he just wanted something to do with his body.

Crowley licked his dry lips. “Angel, don’t play with me. I need you to be honest here.”

“I’m an angel, dear. I’m always honest.” He bit his lip, then amended: “Well, at least, I’m never actively _dis_honest.”

“I have wanted to kiss you since we had those goddamned oysters in Rome.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He opened and closed his mouth, unsure what to say.

“Are you listening to me?” Crowley demanded.

“Yes.”

“I’ve wanted to kiss you for ages. That was just the first time I had the stones to ask.”

“Liquid courage,” Aziraphale murmured.

“Yes, but I haven’t had any of that today.” Crowley was leaning forward so far that he was nearly falling out of the chair, just wanting to be as close to Aziraphale as possible. “D’you know what I thought, right after we finished kissing?”

“I don’t,” Aziraphale replied, leaning forward a little himself as though Crowley’s answer might get to him faster the closer he was.

“I thought,” Crowley said, “that I wished you’d let me kiss you sober one day.”

Aziraphale ran his tongue over his lips, and something in Crowley’s groin throbbed at the sight. Crowley squashed the feeling, waiting for the angel to speak again.

“Are you…are you asking me to kiss you again?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I am. With no alcohol to blame it on. I’m asking you to take what you want, for once, and damn the consequences. You just said you wanted it. Show me.” His mouth was so dry by now that he was amazed he’d managed to say all that, but he was through holding back. He’d overcome his fear enough to ask the initial question that had started this whole conversation, now he needed Aziraphale to overcome his own fear and reciprocate.

Aziraphale stood up and came over to Crowley’s chair. He sat down on the arm, his body angled toward Crowley, whose breath came short as his field of vision was taken over by Aziraphale, as the smell of the angel’s cologne hit him, as he realized that he might actually be about to get what he wanted. That the risk he’d taken might have paid off.

Aziraphale leaned in. “Well?” he asked, and all traces of nervousness seemed to have melted away. His eyes, laser-focused on Crowley’s mouth, were blazing with desire now.

Crowley wasn’t about to deny him for long.

“Come here,” said the demon, and he cupped the back of Aziraphale’s neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

Aziraphale’s reaction was immediate. He grabbed Crowley’s lapels and dragged him in so that their chests pressed together, and then Aziraphale fell into Crowley’s lap as if he’d always belonged there. His arms wrapped around Crowley’s neck, and Crowley hugged him back, his hands pressing into Aziraphale’s sides, moving up to dig into his shoulders.

Aziraphale’s hands seemed to be everywhere at once, first around Crowley’s neck, then clutching his face, then in his hair. The angel’s lips were as soft and warm as Crowley remembered, even as they pressed against his own with increasing force. Crowley opened his mouth, and Aziraphale’s tongue brushed over his lips. With a growl, Crowley took control of the kiss and sank his teeth into Aziraphale’s lip. Aziraphale’s tongue flashed out again, moving into Crowley’s mouth, and Crowley sighed in pleasure and relinquished the leading role.

He swore he could feel Aziraphale smirking as the angel tipped his head back and began fiercely kissing him from above. Crowley’s fingers tangled in Aziraphale’s hair as he kissed back, his mouth moving with Aziraphale’s as the angel clutched at his arms, his back, his shoulders. Soon enough they were in a hopeless tangle of limbs, Aziraphale’s leg somehow having ended up between Crowley’s thighs and his left arm slipped under Crowley’s right so that he could hold him closer. Still they didn’t break away from each other, their kissing still alive with hot, delicious friction.

Crowley was in bliss. He felt like he could do this forever. He could feel every inch of Aziraphale’s body that was touching his, every movement Aziraphale made against him. He could taste green tea, and he could smell ink and books and cologne, and it was _marvelous_, far better than any alcohol-fueled kiss could ever be.

When they eventually pulled their mouths apart, Aziraphale stayed close, his forehead pressed to Crowley’s. They were both panting.

“Angel…”

“Shh.” Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s forehead.

“Angel...is this...does this mean we’re-”

“We’ll talk about it,” Aziraphale promised, his voice soft and breathy. “I promise you that.” He brushed his lips against Crowley’s temple. “Coffee, darling?”

“Coffee,” Crowley repeated, unable to form a full sentence while his brain was occupied with the fact that Aziraphale had just called him _darling_. “Yes. Let’s talk.”

Aziraphale slid out of Crowley’s lap, reached down to squeeze his hand, and went to make some decidedly non-alcoholic beverages. 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed the fic? Let me know! Also, there is now a podfic of this fic, done by yours truly.
> 
> Also also, I joined tumblr like 20 minutes ago. Follow me! https://www.tumblr.com/blog/julia-writes-fanfic

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just This Once [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20648702) by [JuliaJekyll](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll)


End file.
